Target Acquired by magwinkles
by Straight thru the Heart Fics
Summary: I am Isabella Swan. Code Name: Cygnet. He is my assignment, and I will risk my life and take others in order to protect him. It's just another job. It has to be—this is what I do.


**Entry for the Straight thru the Heart Contest**

 **Title:** Target Acquired

 **Summary:** I am Isabella Swan. Code Name: Cygnet. He is my assignment, and I will risk my life and take others in order to protect him. It's just another job. It has to be—this is what I do.

 **Pairing:** Edward/Bella

 **Rating: M**

 **Word count:** 6,996

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Take a seat." Director Hale appraises me with ice-blue eyes as I cross the room. "Isabella, this is Carlisle Cullen of Cullen Media."

She doesn't have to tell me who he is—he's one of the world's most recognizable faces. His company owns thirty percent of the world's media.

Carlisle reaches across to shake my hand. "Nice to meet you, Isabella. Ms. Hale tells me you're the best."

Rosalie's eyes narrow at me from across the table. "Let's begin."

The mission is Carlisle's eldest son, Edward. Six foot three, a hundred and sixty-five pounds, green eyes, auburn hair, born and raised in new money, educated at Harvard—although he hasn't done much with his ivy-league education—and currently hopping from one beach to the next across Europe. At least he was, until he disappeared a week ago.

Rosalie gestures to Carlisle, her expression softening. "Please tell Isabella about the emails?"

Carlisle clears his throat. "After we were unable to reach Edward in Barcelona, we received an email saying he was taken hostage."

While he talks, I flip through the file—emails, CCTV stills, plane manifests, lists of possible suspects and known associates.

"Russians?" I ask, looking up.

Rosalie frowns. "It looked that way at first, but now we suspect otherwise. Intel suggests a multi-national, with cells in Switzerland, China, and Somalia, and two more, unconfirmed."

I pause on the picture of Edward Cullen. He screams trust fund.

"Forgive me, but shouldn't the NSA or CIA handle this?"

Carlisle speaks first. "I know this isn't what your Program usually deals with, but you're the best. I don't have time for government red tape." He reaches across the desk, as if his hand can span the length of the table to reach me. "I want my son back."

Rosalie nods almost imperceptibly. I wonder how much he's paying us.

"I'm in," I say.

"Good." Rosalie stands. "Wheels up in two hours."

* * *

I touch down to a hundred-degree Barcelona day, and the kind of hot wind that feels like it's melting the skin off your bones. I head straight for Edward's hotel.

"Suite 1412, as requested," says the desk clerk. "The Concierge will take care of your luggage."

I flash a dazzling smile as he slides the keycard across the counter. "I think an old college buddy of mine is staying here. Edward Cullen?" I lower my eyelashes and bite my lip. "Could tell me his room number?"

The clerk looks startled. "Oh, _Senorita_ , hotel policy—"

"Oh, come on," I say, leaning on the counter. My top is low cut, and I know it's a cheap move, but sometimes you have to work with what you've got. "I'd be… _muy agradecida_."

Flustered, he glances around furtively before tapping at the keys. "Well, look at that," he says. "Adjoining rooms."

* * *

A sweep of his room turns up nothing, but a deep search of his last cell ping sends me to a disused factory outside of Tortosa, just south of Barcelona.

A safe distance away, I pop the trunk and open the hidden compartment inside. Throwing stars, lock picking equipment, adorable little pocket-sized grenades Jasper designed especially for me—I don't know where to start. Keeping an eye on the factory, I strap knives to my thighs and save room for extra gadgets. Scarlet takes pride of place at my hip, right where she should be.

I shrug my leather jacket on and tie my hair back. "Let's do this."

It takes a minute to launch myself over the fence, and even less to take out the guards on the perimeter and side door.

The third is a little trickier.

My back against some kind of metal machine, I silently lift my gun. He rounds the corner and I reach for him as he passes, pressing my arm across his throat and my gun to his temple.

"Make a sound and I'll put a bullet in your head," I whisper, tightening my arm. He stumbles as I pull him down to my height. "Where are they keeping him?"

"I— " He chokes out a cough, his face turning beet red. " _No lo sé_..."

"Tell me and I won't kill you."

He hesitates, and I can tell he's trying to decide if a hundred and ten pound girl will really kill him. I cock the hammer on Scarlet and his eyes widen, his pulse hammering beneath my grip.

"Last door on right," he stutters in broken English. "Third floor."

"See?" I slam the butt of my gun to his temple and he collapses at my feet. "That was easy."

I creep upstairs and along the walkway spanning the length of the building. Trying not to disturb the crumbling brick, I manoeuvre quietly around a corner.

"Incoming," warns Jasper.

My heartbeat kicks up as I hear boots against cement floor. My gun is aimed at his head before he has the chance to reach for a weapon.

"Drop it," I say quietly. He looks around, unsure whether to run or fight.

Thankfully, or unfortunately depending on how you want to look at it, his two-way radio blares, and stupidly he reaches for it. His words are cut off by a single shot, close range, to the head.

"There goes stealth mode."

I figure I've got a minute until someone comes looking. Covert mission obliterated, I fire three quick shots into the door. The lock explodes and I only have to kick the door once for it to swing open.

I touch my earpiece. "Birdsnest, I have eyes on the target."

His white shirt is torn and bloody, exposing a ring of bruises around his neck. His head hangs between his shoulders, his arms bound behind his back at an awkward angle. Checking the hallway quickly, I slip into the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

"Edward?" I whisper, lifting his head.

His face is bruised, but it's clear it's him. Even with a split lip and dried blood caked on his skin, his strong, defined features are unmistakeable.

"Can you hear me? I need you to wake up." I reach down to cut the ties binding his legs and arms. "You better wake up, because I'm _not_ carrying you out of here."

He groans but doesn't stir.

"Fuck it," I mutter under my breath. I pull a vial from my belt, flip the cap, and wave the small steel tube under his nose. His head snaps upright with a snort.

"What the-"

My hand clamps over his mouth. "I'm here to help." He looks terrified. "Can you be quiet?"

Edward nods. I remove my hand slowly, satisfied when he remains silent.

"I need you to get up, keep your head down, and run."

I grab his hand and pull him from the chair, but it's too late—we have company.

Edward freezes when I hold up my hand. I pull him back against the wall and take out the lipstick case stashed in my jacket. I crouch and feel Edward doing the same. Smart boy.

"Now's hardly the time to fix your makeup," he hisses.

Sassing me? Not so smart. "Afraid it's not your colour?" I snap back.

I angle the mirror around the corner, giving me a view of the corridor. Two. Well armed. One I can take on my own—the other will be more challenging.

Uncapping the lipstick, I twist the base to arm the tranq dart. "Just stay down."

The lipstick fires a compressed air-dart right into the thigh of the bigger guard, sending him down in seconds. The other looks around, confused, giving me enough time to slip out from behind the door.

He's tall but slow. He turns, gun raised, but I grab his outstretched hand and use his momentum to pull him off balance. He aims a meaty fist at my head, which I block easily before throwing my knee up into his stomach. He buckles, so I knee him in the face. Blood hits the floor, and I finish him with the butt of my gun to the back of his head.

Edward's eyes dart between me and the guy on the floor. "Holy shit."

"Come on." I crouch down to grab the guy's piece. I hold out a hand to help Edward, but he stands on his own, his hands shaking as he dusts himself off.

"You CIA?" he asks, as we wind our way back out onto the factory floor. "NSA?"

"You wish."

"Seriously, not that I mind being rescued by a babe with a gun, but who the fuck are you?"

We stop, and I press a hand to his chest, pushing him against the wall. "I'm the _babe_ who's going to get you out of here. So until such time as you're on home soil, you do what I say, when I say. Clear, _sweetheart_?"

He pauses, a pair of the greenest eyes I've ever seen looking me up and down. "I'm all yours."

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, I break into a sprint. "Good. Now run!"

The factory provides basic cover, but as soon as we hit open air, we're sitting ducks. It's only by the grace of God that we make it out alive.

The dirt to my left explodes as a bullet whizzes past. Lights flash as the Mercedes registers my proximity. I point at the passenger side. "Get in!"

Edward's eyes widen. " _This_ is your car?"

Suppressing the urge to smile with pride, I slide into the driver's seat. "What did you expect? A minivan? Get in the damn car!"

He dives in just in time, barely dodging another bullet. I hit the ignition and the accelerator, and we take off just as three jeeps appear behind us.

"Mockingbird," I shout. "A way out of here. And fast!"

Bullets ping off the car as I tear onto the highway. Edward ducks in his seat. "Jesus. Is this thing bulletproof?"

Ignoring him, I slam my foot onto the accelerator. "That exit, Mockingbird!"

"Next right," says Jasper.

I flick the steering wheel, and Edward's hands press against the ceiling as we turn sharply.

"Put your seatbelt on!"

He complies, and we thunder down the dirt road. We've got speed on our side, but these guys are not quitting.

Edward's voice is panicked. "It's a dead end!"

He's getting on my nerves, but he's right. The road ends abruptly, with nothing but trees and dense undergrowth beyond.

"Mockingbird—"

Jasper is in my ear instantly. "Hard right."

Edward braces on the dashboard, forearms straining as he holds on for dear life. "I'm going to die," he whispers, paling.

I hit the handbrake and flick the wheel. The Mercedes arcs, the back tires squealing as we hit the hairpin turn. The jeeps roar past us as we tear away, the move barely slowing us down. They explode into the forest, but I still don't have a good feeling.

"What's on my radar?"

"Local authorities responding," replies Jasper. "You're free and easy until the safe house."

"Copy." I have to take Jasper's word for it. "Cygnet out."

The screen gives coordinates for a safe house—a hotel a few miles away, along empty road.

* * *

"It's not the Hilton," I say as we pull up. "But it'll have to do."

Shrugging, Edward runs his hand through his messy hair. It's the most human, vulnerable thing I've seen him do since we met. It's a shocking reminder he's someone's son, something to be kept safe.

"I'll check in and be right back."

When I return, he's asleep, head resting gently on the window. I help him into the motel room. He's filthy—dried blood and dust and God knows what, and as much as he's kind of a pain in the ass I can't let him sleep in his own filth.

The shower is tiny, the water pressure non-existent, but his eyes light up the minute I turn it on. "You first," he offers politely, but I can tell he's just realised how grimy he is.

I toss him a towel, pointing toward the bathroom. "Don't fall asleep. I'm not dragging your naked ass out of there."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

I make a quick call to Base Ops and pull the car in around the back of the motel. Nothing says _secret agent_ like an eight hundred thousand dollar car parked at a motel that charges by the hour. I've just slipped Scarlet beneath my pillow when the bathroom door opens. Edward stands in the doorway, water still dripping down his bare legs, wrapped in a towel. Apart from some bruising around his rib cage and arms, and a few grazes and cuts here and there, he looks good.

I turn away and strip out of my leather jacket, tossing it aside. From the way my heart titters you'd think I'd never seen a half-naked man before.

Flopping onto the bed, Edward falls back, the towel slipping low on his narrow hips. He sighs, his lean stomach muscles flexing. "Jesus, it's hot in here."

He's right. Sweat gathers at my lower back, and the thought of stripping naked and flopping onto the bed beside Edward sounds like a great idea.

I mean the bed beside Edward's. The other bed in the room. Not beside him. Naked. Sweaty.

Working. I'm _working_.

Kicking my boots to the side more violently than necessary, I try the knob on the air conditioner. It chugs once before going silent. "I'll grab some water when I go out."

"You're leaving?"

"We need supplies. You need clothes."

"Damn." He lifts his head just enough to smirk at me from across the room. "I thought this was a clothing-optional sleepover."

Grabbing a change of clothes, I head past a grinning Edward and into the bathroom.

"Get a grip, Bella," I whisper-yell at myself in the mirror.

It takes two solid minutes of cold water to get my head right.

I slip on a pair of clean jeans and a tank top. Towelling off my hair, I step back into the bedroom, only to find Edward standing by my bed, holding my gun.

He's disarmed before he even realises I'm in the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" I growl, gun aimed at his head.

"Ow!" he cries, unable to move under my grip. "It was under the pillow, I swear!"

Adrenaline pumping, I let him go. He rubs at the sore spots—he has a couple more now—and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Don't _ever_ point a gun at me. And never evertouch Scarlet." I glare at him. "Ever."

His cheeks are flushed, but I see that hint of smartass I saw back in the factory. "You named your gun?"

"People come and go." I hold Scarlet reverently before tucking her into the back of my pants. "But Scarlet's always been with me."

"Wow." Edward's eyebrows rise for a minute, his expression carefully blank. "That's kind of… sad. I was trying to sleep, and it was uncomfortable. I didn't know it was yours."

I snort. "Hang out with hired guns often, do you? Whose did you think it was?"

"I don't... No guns. Just you," he says hurriedly.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Get some sleep. I'll get food."

* * *

I sit on the floor inside the door for almost every minute of the nine hours Edward sleeps, except for the times I get up to check he's still breathing. My brain remains trained to the sounds outside. Regardless of the relative quiet, we can't stay. As soon as Edward wakes, we need to move out.

The hairs on my arms rise as a chopper thunders overhead. It's distant, heading in the opposite direction, but enough to keep me on edge. It's not like I haven't had missions go bad—I've got the scars to prove it—but something about this whole shitstorm feels wrong.

A CEO desperate to get his son back, offering more money than I've ever seen in my life.

More armed guards than the Vatican, holed up in some crummy outpost, guarding one guy.

No ransom.

The emails never talked about how to get Edward back—not money or favors. So why didn't they kill him straight away? Why all the fuss over this one guy?

Before I know it, I'm standing over his sleeping body, my thoughts jumbled as I grope for the piece that puts the puzzle together.

His eyes widen as he wakes. "What—"

"This isn't some random abduction, and I'm not stupid." I lift my gun, the hammer clicking loudly as I point it at the space between his eyes. "Why are they still after us?"

"We're back to pointing guns at each other?"

I level Scarlet at him. "No, this is just me, pointing my gun at you. Speak."

Edward swallows, his eyes trained on the barrel. "I don't know."

I cock my head, clicking the safety off. "Bullshit."

His mouth sets into a firm line, eyes looking past the gun to me. He's silent for a moment, obviously waging some internal battle. Finally, he says, "They're after _me_."

"I figured. Why?"

"I…" The fear disappears from his eyes, his expression settling into a look of defeat. "I can't say."

"Seriously?" Fatigue dissolves the last ounce of my patience. "I almost had my ass shot off dragging you out of that place, and you won't tell me why?"

"It's better this way. Safer."

"For who? You?" I cry. "In case you hadn't noticed, having people shoot at you isn't a particularly safe pastime!"

Eyes bright with anger, he slaps my gun away from his face. His whole body tenses and his fists ball at his side as he paces to the end of the bed. "You have no idea what those people will do to get to me."

"I can handle dangerous people. Look at me!" I spread my arms wide. "All limbs and vital organs accounted for. This is what I do."

He turns to face me. "And this is what I do, okay? I run. I won't put anyone else in danger. Especially someone I barely know."

We're silent in our anger. I click the safety back on, my eyes still on Edward, and lower the gun to my side. There's obviously something else going on, but it's clear Edward isn't going to tell me what it is.

"Get your shit so we can go."

Edward snatches up the clothes I grabbed for him. "Fine."

I stop by the door, jaw clenched, trying to ignore years of training. He's right; I can't expect him to trust me when he doesn't even know me.

"Bella."

He stands there for a moment, t-shirt hanging from his fingers, gaze steady.

"My name is Bella."

* * *

We head east, taking back roads toward Portugal. Edward alternates between brooding and sleeping. He asks only once if I'd like him to drive. My glare shuts him right up.

"Cygnet, this is Birdsnest." The sound of the satellite radio stirs Edward from his sleep. "Angel is go for evac at rendezvous point."

"Thank God," I mutter.

Whatever Jasper says next sounds garbled and robotic, his voice broken up by static.

"Sorry, Birdsnest," I say. "Repeat?"

More static. I frown. The line is usually clear.

The speakers crackle and a voice says, "Stand by, agent."

Something's off. Jasper always uses my code name… and we _never_ use the word "agent."

"Proceed to Barcelona. There is a flight booked for you both."

"That's not him," says Edward at the same time I'm thinking it. "That's not your guy."

"I know." I punch the switch furiously, my frustration reaching boiling point. "They've hacked my goddamn radio."

Edward is wide-eyed, but it seems his brain is ticking over while mine melts out my ears. "What are our chances of getting into France?"

There's a stash of fake IDs in my bag, some for me, some for Edward. "Better than average."

"That'll have to do," he says. "I know somewhere."

"It needs to be safe. Middle of nowhere." I'm already punching details into the screen.

"It is," he says firmly. "It's totally secret." He stares out the windshield, watching the road ahead. "There's stuff there."

I'm not sure what he means by _stuff_ , but we're running out of options. This isn't going to be the quick, easy extraction I'd hoped for.

"Pull over." Edward unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off.

"Don't tell me you have to pee again."

He smiles, shaking his head. "Just pull over. Behind this gas station."

As soon as I park, Edward hops out, his t-shirt clinging to him in the hot wind. Standing in front of the car, he gives me the signal to pop the hood. I frown at him from behind the wheel for a solid ten seconds. He just stands there, waiting.

Mumbling curses, I pop the hood.

He immediately begins digging through wires that run through the engine bay. "If they've hacked your radio, they already have your GPS system," he says. "If I can locate the satellite receiver and make some adjustments to the bandwidth, I should be able to set up a secure line and disable your GPS locator."

Jasper is going to kill him for fucking with this car. Or, he'll kill me.

He pulls a blue wire out. "Pocket knife." Silent, I hand over my knife, watching as he strips the wire, then another. "It should buy you time to make the call."

"How do you know how to do this?"

Edward shrugs.

Irritation flares, but I keep a lid on it, watching him work.

"Can you patch in? We'll see if it works."

"Knife," I tell him, hand outstretched. "And stay here. Don't move."

He hands it over, and I close the hood. Locking the doors once I'm in, I secure my earpiece.

The radio crackles to life. "Birdsnest?"

"Cygnet?" Jasper sighs. "We thought we'd lost you."

I stare at Edward through the windshield. "I'm assured this line is clean."

Rosalie's voice comes in. "We can't be sure, so I'll make it quick. We've had company. Evac is no-go. The angel has fallen."

Fuck. The chopper has been compromised, which means there's no way out. I rattle off the coordinates Edward gave me for the new safe house, using an old code system.

"See if you can get me anything on this new location, Mockingbird," I say, still watching Edward like a hawk.

"Can I confirm privacy?"

True to his word, Edward hasn't moved. "Confirmed."

"You should know… we have new intel on the target."

I roll my eyes. "Such as?"

"He's a tech genius. Like, four points above me kind of genius."

I smile between pursed lips. Jasper is borderline Stephen Hawkings. This Edward guy must be something else.

"They're not after money. Cygnet, they want him _dead_." I can picture Jasper shaking his head in disbelief. "The bounty on him is huge. Bigger than any I've seen before."

Rolling my head around on my shoulders, I try to ignore the thundering headache taking up residence in my left temple. This just gets better and better.

"Copy that."

I'm about to sign off, when Rosalie chimes in. "You need to go off grid, Cygnet. Monitor your target—stay low for no less than thirty days. We'll send through a new evac point."

A month.

My headache worsens.

"Copy that. Cygnet out."

I tuck the earpiece into my pocket, and lower the window enough for Edward to hear me. "Get in."

He does, staring at me as he sits. "Well?"

"Well, what?" I start the engine.

"Did it work?" He sounds eager. "The radio? Was it clear?"

"Shut up and put your seatbelt on, Edward."

I can see his cheeks rise as he smiles out the window. I hide my face so he doesn't see me do the same.

* * *

Set deep in the Pyrenees, the safe house is more like a cabin. The building itself is modest, made of stone with a steep, shingled roof, and nestled among rolling hills.

It looks untouched, gently maintained—idyllic.

"Home sweet home," mutters Edward as we pull in. He gestures to an accompanying barn beside the house. "You can park in there."

The Mercedes hums gently into the barn, and Edward reaches for the door handle. I lunge across him, putting my hand over his.

I feel his warmth, the way his breath blows gently over my cheek. Against my better judgement, my heart gives a squeeze. It's been a long time since I was this close to a guy I wasn't trying to kill.

"Wait here," I murmur.

He nods, and I grab Scarlet from under my seat. I slip quickly from the car and lock the door behind me. Hugging the wall of the barn, I creep toward the front door. I notice a few small cameras as I move around the side of the house, but otherwise everything looks quiet.

The front door is heavy wood, and—I have to give props to Edward—locked up with a state of the art electromechanical locking system.

But I've got Jasper and ten years of break and enter under my belt.

"Nice try," I whisper as rip the wires from behind the locking mechanism. A few stripped wires, and the lock whirs and clicks before disabling.

I push the handle… and the alarm goes off. The lock re-engages, and I can only watch as shutters slam down over the windows of the chalet.

"May I?"

Edward steps up to my side, his arm brushing mine as he slides the cover from a panel I hadn't even seen and keys in a passcode.

"Nice try." He smirks as he gestures for me to move ahead of him.

I stare at him for a moment. At the way his green eyes shine from beneath dark lashes, at the small pink spots on his cheeks from the cool weather. I've never wanted to punch someone quite so much.

Inside, the floor is covered in a light sheen of dust. We check the main rooms, and then with me in tow Edward heads toward a room at the back of the chalet. Through a three inch steel door, the wood-panelled walls of the room are reinforced with bulletproof fibreglass. A bank of computers and hard drives flicker and whirr quietly from beneath sheets, and Edward crosses the room and with a few quick taps on a keyboard brings up a surveillance feed of the property. It covers every square foot, inside and out. Motion sensors, heat signature detectors and silent alarms are dotted all over. The place is locked down tight.

He watches me take it all in, his eyes flitting between nervous and excited.

"You did all this yourself?"

He nods, tucking his hands in his pockets, and smiles.

"Impressive." I look around, mirroring his stance as I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. "This is some serious hardware." I slip the sheet from yet another processor, my brows rising as I take note of the model. "Some seriously _illegal_ hardware."

Edward clears his throat nervously. "What can I say? The Russians know how to make encryption decoders."

Surveillance equipment aside, there has to be tens of thousands of dollars worth of high-tech gear here. "Must be some secret you're hiding."

Taking his hands from his pockets, Edward crosses his arms over his chest. He frowns, eyes unfocused. "I'll get the bags."

* * *

When I return from doing a perimeter sweep, he's pulled the covers from the furniture and is in the kitchen. Judging from the smell, he's brewing coffee.

My stomach rumbles, and he whirls around, eyes wide. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Sorry," I say. "Habit."

"Something I'll have to get used to, I suppose."

We occupy the kitchen space in awkward silence.

"So… according to our passports, we're married," he says quietly.

I shrug, but a funny feeling twists my stomach. "More convincing than brother and sister."

He turns, offering me a mug. "It's only instant. And no creamer or anything. We'll need to go shopping."

I sip the coffee. It's not great, but it's warm. "It's fine. Thanks." I take my drink and wander toward the window. Lush green hills roll out over the horizon, shadowed by the looming mountains in the distance. "It's beautiful here."

Edward comes to stand beside me. "My grandmother grew up here. As far as my father knows, an anonymous buyer purchased it from the family estate years ago."

"Let me guess. You're the anonymous buyer?"

Edward grins, and I notice a sense of pride. "First house I ever bought." He sips at his drink.

I think about what Jasper told me and wonder if this nerd-turned-playboy is the genius he's supposed to be. There's no denying his looks, and judging from what I've seen over the past twelve hours, he's got smarts, too. So why do people want him dead?

I go back to staring out the window, pondering Edward's silence, his past, our future… my own inability to be truthful.

A month will be an eternity.

* * *

 **1 month later**

* * *

I've never had a roommate, but being stuck in the French Alps with Edward this past month has been surprisingly easy. We mostly keep to the chalet, only venturing into the village for supplies, and never at the same time. Edward grows out his beard. I cut my hair short and dye it platinum blonde. Two brand new people, we settle into a kind of comfortable existence.

Mostly.

"I'm not your fucking maid." I pick up his running shoes by the laces and toss them at him. "Can't you pick up your own crap?"

"It's not like you gave me a chance," he spits, stepping out of the bathroom. "I just took them off!" I know he will have already discarded his shirt on the floor—he has a habit of doing that. It's a little distracting.

Okay, it's a lot distracting.

I've gone twenty-nine days without punching somebody, shooting somebody, blowing something up, and without any other type of… relief.

Combined with the way my stupid heart zips around my chest whenever Edward's near… frustrated doesn't begin to cover it.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?" I ask as I watch him prepare dinner.

His back is to me, muscles shifting beneath cotton as he stirs what smells like the most delicious pasta in the world.

"I'll drain the pasta, add some of that fresh basil we bought." He turns to me. "Taste this."

I try not to moan at the flavour of the pasta sauce. "Wow." I lick the sauce from my lower lip. "So good."

Spoon still in his hand, Edward stares at me.

And then he leans in and kisses me.

Just once. Very quickly.

"You had a bit of sauce." He gestures to his bottom lip before he turns back to the stove.

I stare at the back of his head, my lower lip tingling. I open my mouth to speak and quickly close it again. I'm speechless. That never happens.

"Was that your way of distracting me?" I ask finally, staring at the ground at my feet.

Edward chuckles quietly, his back still to me. "If it was I've failed. Obviously."

Little does he know the kiss has scrambled my brain—I can barely keep myself upright.

"They're after tracking software. I wrote the code and developed the program a few years back. Kind of a side-project, I guess."

I sip my wine to keep my hands occupied. "What does it do?"

"It uses alternating wavelength technology at a strategically programmed frequency to trace cellular devices. Meaning a phone can be switched off and you can still trace it."

He switches the heat off and turns to me, reaching for the wine glass beside him.

"The program was initially created for cell phones, but once we realised the scope of what it could do, we found it had amazing potential. Imagine being able to trace every mobile phone within a few feet. Search and rescue would be almost obsolete. Amber alerts would be unnecessary. Any terrorist in the world would be traceable. But..."

"But you're worried about it falling into the wrong hands."

"Can you imagine what someone could do with that kind of program? There'd be nowhere to hide."

"So how does this come back to you?"

"It isn't finished," he says. "There's some code missing."

I put my glass down before I drop it. "You're the only person who knows the code."

"Without me, the program isn't complete. The software is useless."

"Shit."

Edward smiles ruefully.

"So this whole thing has been about them trying to get the code from you?"

He nods.

"Hence this place, I guess." I gesture around us.

"Hence my whole life, really."

"Pasta's boiling." I point to the pot of water. He turns, but I continue. "What do you mean _your whole life_?"

Edward sighs. Steam billows around him as he strains the pasta into the sink. "A few years back we tried to sell the program to a NGO who specialise in wildlife conservation."

I sip my wine, watching him serve up dinner. "Sounds noble."

He shakes his head as he scoops. "The deal went bad. They were planning to sell the program to a black market dealer, so we pulled the plug. But Dad and I knew as soon as people knew I had the code, I wouldn't be safe." He gestures to the table. "Please sit."

My stomach clenches with anticipation as Edward sets a bowl of pasta in front of me; it smells amazing. I wait for him to sit and continue his story. He doesn't disappoint.

"We figured the best place to hide would be in plain sight. And so the playboy millionaire son was born."

He's right. Nobody would suspect the party animal millionaire to be the last piece in the puzzle. The globe-trekking, the paparazzi, even the smartass attitude—well, most of it—it's all part of the person he's had to become to hide.

We eat in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

My Program file said Edward's mother passed away when he was in middle school. Carlisle never remarried, throwing himself into running his business and raising his son. I wonder if Edward lived the same bachelor lifestyle, and before I know it, my verbal filter is gone and I'm speaking.

"At least as the wild party boy you're never lonely. There's always someone willing to tag along, right?"

Tracing a long finger around the rim of his empty pasta bowl, Edward stares down at the tabletop. "Funnily enough, it's the opposite. The last four years have been the loneliest of my life."

I reach over and rest my hand on his before I can think better of it.

Edward smiles, shaking his head. "That's enough red wine for me," he says with a laugh.

I feel I know more about loneliness than a girl my age should. And I want so desperately to tell him, to share with him everything I am, everything I want and feel right at this moment, but I don't.

"Done?" I ask abruptly, standing up with my plate.

He watches me hurriedly clear up. "Yes. Thank you."

My feet move me toward the kitchen, and I fill the sink, clattering the dirty dishes and busying my hands in an attempt to purge the thoughts running through my head.

I sense him following me, but he doesn't speak straight away.

"Do you… Is there anyone waiting for you at home?" he asks cautiously.

I'm sure he already knows the answer, but I'm off guard. "No," I say bitterly. "Not for years. There's no one for me." A few random hook-ups and a handful of failed relationships don't count.

He reaches around me and sets his glass in the water. I freeze, overwhelmed by having him so close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. I don't feel threatened, though. I feel… more.

He rests his hand on the counter but doesn't move away. "I don't think it's like that at all."

I bite my lip as his free hand comes to rest on my hip. I allow myself to be turned within the frame of his arm. Water drips from my hands, but I barely notice.

"You want to know what I think?" Green eyes, pink lips, pale skin—my brain is overloading. "You're used to being alone. You don't know how not to be."

"You don't know me."

His brow arches and butterflies take flight in my stomach. "I know you better than you think."

My jaw clenches as he closes the gap between us a little more. The memory of his kiss lingers, searing into my skin and making me ache for it again

"You're so used to looking after yourself that you're scared," he says. "Scared of what being with someone would mean."

Goosebumps erupt as a single finger, soft and gentle, runs the length of my arm.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, Bella." He cups my face in his palm, and instead of flinching, I feel my body relax. "I'll never hurt you." His gaze is intense. "Let me in."

I've always relied on my gut instinct, and it's always, _always_ been right. And my gut tells me Edward is true to his word. I feel it everywhere.

He lowers his head, just a fraction, and I raise up onto my tiptoes. His hand slips to the back of my neck, fingers resting in my hair. As soon as his mouth touches mine, I know it. I knew it as soon as I saw him, beaten and vulnerable, and I know it now, here in this tiny cabin so many miles from anywhere of consequence. Here, with Edward, is exactly where I'm meant to be.

He scoops me into his arms, and instead of the ass-kicking assassin I'm trained to be, I feel like a girl, cared for by a man. He carries me upstairs, kissing me gently every few steps.

Clothes fall to the floor as Edward unhurriedly undresses me. I slip his T-shirt over his head, and he lowers us onto my unmade bed.

He kisses me all over, exploring the spots that drive me crazy, causing my skin to heat and my heart to thunder. He takes his time, bringing me closer to the edge. He moves inside me and I move with him, waves of fire consuming us both. When he comes, he pins me with his gaze, and I've never felt more real, more grounded. It's enough to send me spiralling with him.

All night we talk about our lives, our time here, everything, and nothing. We avoid what could come next. When we're done talking, we make love again and I feel myself falling for him.

* * *

The morning is crisp and calm. I shake a pillowcase out and fold it over the clothesline. The radio plays somewhere inside, some French hip-hop station Edward found.

I grin as I secure one of his t-shirts with a clothespin. I made eggs for breakfast—I ruined them, but Edward ate them anyway. He's started a woodpile close to the chalet. The days are starting to get shorter, and we'll need to set up for the winter if we're going to stay.

I kind of want to.

I think we could be happy together, him and me. We already are.

"Bella?"

I poke my head out from behind a sheet. "Yeah?"

The only warning I get is the whistle of the missile before it hits the ground behind me. The shock wave rushes at me and I'm airborne for a moment before my body slams into the ground meters away.

My ears ring as I roll onto my back, mentally cataloguing my body parts.

"Jesus, you're all right." Edward appears above me, hands fluttering over me. "Can you get up?" When I don't answer right away, his tone is more urgent.

Wincing, I lift my head. "All limbs present and accounted for." Even joking hurts.

The earth tilts as Edward grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. "Good, because we need to run."

The reinforced gates hold them, but only for a moment.

An arrow lodges into a tree with a thwack. Edward's breath catches, but he doesn't falter. "Was that an arrow?"

I duck my head and push forward harder. "Keep running!"

Edward steps on it, keeping up with me as we dart through the trees.

"Up here," he says between pants, as a low, wide machinery shed comes into view.

"I hope there's a fast car in there." I miss my car.

"Better than that," Edward says, ducking as another bullet whizzes by. We hug the tree line as Edward reaches the doors, pushing them sideways.

"If that's what I think it is," I say, hope rushing through my body, "you're totally getting lucky tonight."

Edward jumps into the cockpit and gives me the cheeky smirk I've come to love as he pulls on headphones. The airplane starts first go—finally, something is going our way.

He reaches over, grabs my hand and kisses it. "Let's get out of here." He hits the thrust, and we're pushed back into our seats. The wheels leave the ground and we climb into the skies, leaving the chalet far below.

Edward fiddles with a few knobs, grinning as he patches in the radio. He looks peaceful up here among the clouds, comfortable.

"Cygnet?" Jasper sounds relieved. "Am I glad to hear from you!"

"Copy, Mockingbird. Target acquired," I say, smiling over at Edward. He smiles back, squeezing my hand. "We're headed home."

As cheesy as it sounds, I guess you could say we fly off into the sunset and have our happily ever after.

Almost.

* * *

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